A Girl and Her Words
by longliv88
Summary: How Viktor Krum fell for Hermione Granger, and her feelings towards him. Takes place during the Goblet of Fire.


The library seemed quieter than usual, silence hanging still in the air. The only noise was the turning of pages (and even then, the noise was coming from Hermione herself) and a few pairs of muffled, shuffling footsteps.

Hermione scratched her lip, looking at the words and pondering. She was reading up on house-elves, and was surprised to hear that there _had _been wizards before her trying to help liberate them. Beside that book, she had her old battered copy of _A History of Magic, _all volumes 1-7. She was sitting on the floor between stacks, all of them fanned out around her. She'd also picked up as much on the Tri-wizard Tournament as she possibly could.

Harry's name had been pulled, and Hermione knew (as clever and talented as he was) he was nowhere _near _at the level of any of the other champions. She was reading up on past challenges, riddles, and spells used during the tournament.

Just to organize her thoughts on the matter, she had an old feathered quill and a bit of parchment, resting atop one of the heavier volumes. She scrawled out all of the previous challenges she was able to find information on, and from that tried to make an assumption about what Harry's first task would be—so far, it looked pretty bleak.

Sighing in frustration, she scooped up her books and, arms weighed down with leather-bounds, freshly pressed encyclopedias, and ancient texts, she headed toward the Gryffindor common-room, to share what little she'd been able to uncover with Harry.

Viktor counted the seconds in his head, running his thick fingers across the crumbling spines of books. He tried to look busy, intent, in case anyone walked by and saw him—but he couldn't help glancing through the stacks to the other side, where a girl sat, nose stuck in a book, drowning in layers of hard-backs. Her frizzy hair fell almost silkily down her back, her brown eyes moving so quickly across the pages Viktor got dizzy watching them.

He had come to the Hogwarts library for the first time only a few weeks before. He'd done it only to escape the constant crowd of goggling students and giggling girls—when he thought of them, he often imagined spray-bugs, a type of hard-shelled big-eyed nuisance he was often sent to kill when visiting his mother.

For some reason, they didn't follow him in—whether it be because they just didn't _know _he'd gone here, or because they didn't think it was worth it, he wasn't sure. Either way, it was a place where he could find quiet and solace—watching the girl read was something completely new, and alarmingly fascinating.

Her fingers were slim, every curve and swoop of her quill purposeful and delicate. Her skin, the color of the feather-thin sea-shells Viktor used to collect, flushed slightly pink under the dim light. He never saw her reading the same book twice, but every day, without fail, she was here, studying and soaking up knowledge like a word-sponge.

He hadn't talked to her yet—he didn't know if he ever would. It wasn't just language barrier—thought that was quite a lot of it (Viktor spoke English, just not very well)—but it was the fact that whenever he thought about what he might say, how he might start up a conversation, his tongue would knot in the back of his throat and his palms prickled with sweat. As the youngest professional Seeker in any Quidditch team in the last four-hundred years, Viktor was not used to being nervous and hardly recognized it happening.

And he didn't like it, not one bit.

Casting careful looks at her now, he felt a balloon inflate behind his ribs and he thought, _I'm going to do it. I'll talk to her._

And just as he made his way to the other side of the stacks, she collected her things and was gone.

He was about to skulk away, probably sulk in the general direction of the Sports History section, when a small, glimmering red object caught his eye.

She must've dropped it. It was a palm-sized pin, with the letters "S.P.E.W." scrawled across in bold black letters. His furry eyebrows pushed together confusedly. He didn't know what it meant, if it was an English thing, but he stuffed it in the pocket of his pants and walked away.

Now he'd have something to talk to her about, he thought.


End file.
